Page 68 of Gamble with Me
"There is nothing to explain," I ground out as calmly as possible, but my voice wavered. I was disturbed and unable to keep my emotions under control.
"Please, Valeria." Zefarin stretched his gloved hand toward me. "Let's talk."
"So you can charm me again?" I asked, stepping back from him when he moved in my direction. "Or sweet talk me into understanding your reasons?"
"No." He slowly shook his head, his probing gaze holding me captive. "I just want you to calm down. We can talk about anything you want."
"Will you answer my questions?" I inquired, thinking about giving him one last chance. Maybe there was a more significant reason behind all of this.
"What about you answering mine?" Zefarin countered, shrugging when I cast him a confused glance. "I found some things in your past that need clarification."
"What things?" My brows furrowed, staring at the skull mask that didn't reveal anything useful. His eyes were usually calm, and his voice was firm but kind.
"Drug addiction, for example," he replied slowly, making me gasp in shock.
"Those records are sealed," I whispered, horrified at how much he knew about my past. "How did you get them?"
"Records are digitized," he answered, slowly approaching me, but I didn't move this time. I was too shocked and ashamed to think about him closing the distance between us. "Your arrest history is impressive, too."
"Stop." I shook my head, crossing my arms over my chest to shield myself from the painful memories. "You don't know what you're talking about."
"Will you tell me what it was about?" he asked, gently touching my arm. His touch was soft like a feather but felt like a burning coal against my skin.
"Why?" My voice was barely a broken whisper. No one cared for me back then, and after I managed to put my life in order, I tried to forget about that part of me. The part that still silently suffered and was buried deep inside my soul.
"Because after I read what you went through, I need to know you have moved on." His eyes softened, holding so much affection my heart almost instantly melted.
In years of marriage with Chester, he never asked me about the horrors of my past. Yet, the man who knew me for a few months cared for me enough to spend his time talking about it. Or maybe he just wanted to drag my attention away from a dead body he hung before my window. Whatever his intention was, it worked because he again made me feel like I mattered to someone.
"I learned not to think about it," I said after a moment of heavy silence that almost crushed me. He gave me time to ponder if I wanted to dig into my past, but I wasn't sure it was a good idea. My life back then was darker than he could ever imagine.
"It started when your parents died, right?" Zefarin took my hand tenderly, sitting me on the bed. He plopped opposite me when I crossed my legs and leaned against the headboard.
"Yes," I confirmed, feeling my heart constrict in my chest with pain. "It was the worst day of my life. They were gone in a millisecond, and I was sent to a foster family."
"Was it bad?" Zefarin placed his large hand on my knee, moving his thumb in soothing circles. I watched the slow motion, returning to the days I lived under the same roof with five kids ten years younger than me and one guy my age.
"It was depressing," I disclosed, inhaling a shaky breath. "They took me in only because of the money. No one ever cared about me until I formed a relationship with Michael."
"The kid who lived with you?" Zerafin asked, his voice holding an odd glint of hostility.
"He was the same age as me, and somehow, we found a way to get to know each other better," I said, noticing that my stalker's shoulders were tensed. "He taught me how to smoke and deal drugs to earn money," I added, unable to stop the words from pouring out. "We started using them together. Of course, we slept together, and I went through a miscarriage because I didn't know I was pregnant, and I spent my days on drugs and alcohol."
"I'm sorry," Zefarin whispered, gently squeezing my leg, but I shook my head.
"Don't be. It was my fault, and I have to live with it."
"You were just a child without anyone to protect you," he opposed, moving closer to me. The proximity of his body was comforting. Somehow, I trusted him more than anyone in my life.
"Yes, and after that, it got worse." I gulped, recalling the night I found Michael dead in our secret hideout. "Michael overdosed himself a month after I lost the baby, and I was arrested for the possession of heroin."
"I read about it," Zefarin confirmed, pulling me into his arms. I didn't know when he moved beside me, nor did I realize I was crying until he wiped the tear from my cheek. "Now, tell me how talking about it makes you feel."
"Like I lost a piece of my soul that was never restored," I mumbled, stiffening with a sob. "I told him that he ruined my life and that I hated him. I left hoping to never see him again, and he granted my wish."
I burst into tears, burying my face into the soft fabric of Zefarin's hoodie. He enveloped his robust arms around me, kissing the top of my head while I cried out my thirteen-year-old grief and guilt.
I never told anyone what I said to my stalker about Michael and me. The social services had no idea about our relationship. Our foster parents didn't care what we were doing, and I didn't have any friends at the new school. I was an outcast whose only purpose was to survive until I was eighteen, and I could forget about the nightmare my foster family was.
